


Appalachian Moon

by froyobro



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, BEAST MODEEEE, Beauty and the Beast AU, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Bucky is THE BEAST, Comedy, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Gaston dies, Gotta love the tropes, Hurt/Comfort, I did some of my own interpretations, M/M, Not rly graphic tho, Smut, Sorta like the movies, Steve is Belle, Stucky - Freeform, brock rumlow beats the shit out of people, brock rumlow is gaston, do not read morgan, dont tell my parents morgan, ergo..., finished work, getting hurt, i should be working on my other fic, im a funny gal, issa lil funny, its disgusting honestly so sweet it rots ur teeth and gives u diabetis, its for the lolz morgan, nah, no beastiality here folks keep walkin, okay it gets a lil violent in like the last two chapters sorry, porn in the last chapter, stucky in love, sweet sweet pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-09 23:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 15,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17414201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froyobro/pseuds/froyobro
Summary: The Beast thought he was doomed, time running out quicker than he could count, petals signing away his life.And then, *he* walked in...."SUP FUCKERS"





	1. Once Upon a Time...

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome readers. Tis a Beauty and the Beast AU. Nothin' new, or will it be? Appalachian Moon is a song by Patrick Higgins. I might make a playlist for this!
> 
> BTW this will probably be very long, and I'm on break right now but once school starts I'll have to update more sporadically, so be patient with me. I promise it will be worth it.
> 
> Love yall!! Live ur best life. Leave kudos and comments and I'll prolly be more motivated to write :))

Once upon a time, there was a young boy. He was sweet, and caring, and thoughtful. He loved his mother. His father had died long ago, but they were happy together, a queen and her little prince ruling their peaceful country.

But the villagers grew reckless, suspicious, not trusting a woman to rule. They threatened to banish her and her son, now fourteen. Throw them on the streets, or even hang them. So, the queen remarried in the summer. The village was sated.

Winifred Barnes died the following spring. James Barnes was left with the new king, Alexander Pierce.

The king ran a tight ship. And Winifred’s son held his suspicions against his stepfather. His hostile feelings only increased when the king began “disciplining” him—“it will build character, and some damn respect.”

One day, at the age of sixteen, he tried to escape. He didn’t get very far. James was locked in the dungeon for a year, the loneliness and routine inflictions of pain turning his soul into…something else. Something that resented the world, something new and dark and self-deprecating. He became numb, to protect himself.

When he was finally let out, and that rebellious light was out of his eyes, King Alexander remarked, “Good. Now you are fit to take my place when I die.” His consultants would also help keep the prince in line when the king died.

And die he did, finally. When James was twenty-one, the king succumbed to what seemed like a small cold. Hearing of his death was the first time in years that sparked something warm, something satisfying, within his chest.

It died when the king’s aides began controlling his life.

One day, at the annual village ball held in the castle’s ballroom, James was sitting on his throne, the velvet collar itching his neck to the point of madness. He swallowed it down. The villagers avoided contact, for they feared their king. His silence, the lack of emotion, any kind of emotion, in those bright blue eyes of his, chilled them to the bone. He treated them fair enough, but they would never push their luck.

A dirty, peasant beggar came in through the front door, and the whole of polite society separated like the Red Sea to allow her through, like she carried a disease. She fell at the King’s altar, begging for food, water, shelter, anything. Her eyes shined, pleading.

The King looked to his aides, his keepers, and they all minutely shook their heads. He turned down towards the woman. “I cannot help you.”

She begged again, “Please king, show some mercy. Open your heart.”

He stared off into the distance, that characteristic thousand yard stare. “I cannot help you,” the King repeated. He felt… _wrong_ , inside, denying this innocent woman. But he felt there was no way out of his existence, and so he succumbed.

Then, the woman shed her shell of poverty, and turned into a shining Other, a witch that the village thought died long ago. “Your heart is not open to compassion; it has been hardened over years of pain. You do not deserve all you have. You must relearn how to love. And for this to happen, I banish you to an existence of beastliness to match your beastly heart.”

The castle began to shake, as if an earthquake were about to allow the Earth to consume them all. The guests fled as quickly as possible, including the king’s keepers, but the staff remained. They had an undying loyalty to King James, knowing who he was before Alexander, knowing that that boy was still in there somewhere.

The castle shimmered, and a dark wave of cold washed over everyone and everything remaining. The king’s body broke and transformed, and a rose landed in the place of the witch as she vanished.

The village became frozen in time, and a roar that matched the earthquake shook the castle.


	2. The Real World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers and his origin story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) My stupid manz (:

Steve Rogers grew up in the middle of Bumfuck Nowhere. The closest city was an hour and a half drive. The population was less than that of Forks. A fucking disgrace.

His mother liked it because the city reminded her of Steve’s dad. So Steve dealt with it. Because he would do anything for his mother, the only person who was ever there for him, who knew him better than anyone. She made him feel like he mattered.

Brock Rumlow would argue that he made Steve feel like he mattered, too, but that would be a bold-faced lie. The only person that mattered in Brock’s life was, well, Brock.

See, Steve was gay. Everybody knew it, they could tell. He was just so…different. How could he be anything else? _That gay, queer little kid, so short and sickly, what is he going to do with his life? Probably going to die young, and besides, no one makes money drawing._

Brock especially knew it, but he liked Steve despite it. So short, so small, he could probably hold Steve in the palm of his hand. Too bad Steve was the only one who wouldn’t fit into his pocket.

Brock was queer, too. Difference is, nobody pointed it out, or resented him for it, simply because he was big and scary. Word is he even had a gun, killed someone in the town over for lookin’ at him the wrong way.

And he thought he liked Steve. Was protective over him, would kill anyone for lookin’ at him any sort of way, good or bad. Steve stopped getting bullied when he was still in high school, which was nice, but now, even into his twenties, Brock thought that Steve owed him something out of it.

Brock did still cause trouble around town, just for the sake of it, and Steve couldn’t stand idle against someone getting pushed around.

So, he used himself as a distraction. Whenever Brock and his goons circled around their prey, Steve would start talking smack, anything to divert Brock’s attention. It almost always worked, and it almost always got him a smack across the face, or a punch to the gut, and a laugh. Always a laugh.

But Steve always got up.

***

Sarah Rogers died in the hospital she worked at for thirty years, in a bed with a flat pillow, hooked up to monitors, with an old man in the bed next to her. Why couldn’t God take the old man instead?

Steve felt cut open, vinegar poured on a gaping wound and the pain only increasing by the second. He was crying at her bed, clutching her hand, begging for a miracle that would never come. The nurse stood at the door as long as she could, but the old man needed his catheter bag replaced.

A fucking disgrace.

They sent her body to the morgue, and then to the local funeral home. Steve didn’t have the money for a funeral, or a casket, only for cremation. Barely. He pressed her ashes, held in a simple black urn, to his heart as he walked into the forest.

He ran their final conversation through his head, the words on repeat because otherwise he would roll into a ball on the ground and never again get up.

“Steve, please—“

“No, Ma! You’re not gonna die. They’re gonna figure something out for you. We still got time.”

She held out her hands, and Steve clutched onto them like a lifeline. “No, Steven. I don’t. I can feel God calling me to him. Do this for me, my beautiful boy.”

Steve buried his head into her stomach, wanting to deny everything, wanting to scream and cry and throw a tantrum like a child. “Anything for you, Ma.”

She smoothed his hair with one hand—one frail, grey, bony hand. “Spread my ashes in the forest. And find someone to take care of you.”

***

Steve found a meadow, the breeze light and caressing. He sat in the center, holding her close to him. “I don’t wanna let you go, Mom. I don’t wanna let you leave me.”

His tears cooled his face, dropping onto and down the urn slowly. An hour, two, passed by. When the sun began to set, something settled in Steve’s stomach. It was time.

He stood, opening the cover and walking slowly to the edge of the meadow. As he let the ashes drop, they were swooped away by the wind and swirled around almost magically.

He set the urn against a tree and was about to walk away when he heard screaming in the distance, farther into the forest.

Steve, being the idiot he was, ran straight towards it.

His mother was shaking her head somewhere, he could feel it.


	3. Enchanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve arrives in the Beast's universe, guns blazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy. All I gotta say.

A man, elderly, had stumbled across the castle. He was tired after being chased by wolves, searching simply for a place to rest for the night before going back out into the bitter cold. He didn’t understand why it was snowing here, however, since the village was experiencing the sweltering heat of summer mere hours away by horse.

He entered the castle, magnificent, terrifying, but at least it was away from the wolves and the elements.

Then the candelabra began to speak.

He ran out as quickly as he could, puffs of cold air escaping him as he jumped upon his horse. He passed under the arch at the entrance and a bush of roses caught his eye.

_Just one,_ he thought, _for my daughter._ However, when his hand grazed their delicate petals, a beast seven feet high and as wide as a grown tree jumped in front of him, scaring the horse who knocked the man off its back. The old man skittered backwards on the ground, shaking with utter terror.

“Didn’t your mother tell you it wasn’t nice to steal things? These roses do not belong to you!”

“I—I’m sorry, I won’t t-take one—“

The beast paid no mind to his pleas, instead taking him by the back of his coat and marching him back towards the castle to throw him in a dungeon. The man screamed at the top of his lungs but the beast did not worry.

No one could hear him.

***

Steve took puffs from his inhaler, his lungs could barely handle the strain of running. The screaming continued, however, and it motivated Steve to trudge through the increasing thickening of the forest.

It was…getting colder somehow. But that was probably because of the foliage, right?

Was that snow? Sticking to the ground?

Steve shoved the confusion aside, following the strange path to arched gates that led towards---towards a castle. A real life, gigantic castle.

“What the—“

“P-please, I have a daughter! She has no one but me in this world! Please!”

Steve took a deep breath and pushed through the gates.

He found himself in a large foyer, bigger than his and his mom’s tiny apartment.

There was a growl in the room to his left. Something was knocked over—a table?

“How dare you steal from a land that offered you food and shelter?!”

“I di-didn’t think—“

“Obviously!” Then there was a stomping, like mini earthquakes. “Now—“

Steve burst in suddenly, shocking both the beast and the old man.

_Woah,_ Steve thought. _That is one tall, hairy man. With big teeth. And terrifying claws_. He shook his head. “Stop! Don’t you dare hurt him!”

The beast stopped, out of shock. The old man, he was short and stocky, with a shock of white hair and a toothbrush mustache.

The two furrowed their brows in confusion. “Do you know this man?” The monster muttered to the old man—in a moment of solidarity.

“Never seen ‘im a day in my life,” He replied, just as shocked by the small man’s surprise entrance.

The beast shoved the old man to the side, striding to Steve with a glint of…something… (Fascination? Curiosity? Hunger?) in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He growled down to Steve. This beast was at least two and a half heads taller than Steve, but the shorter man steeled his nerves. He convinced himself he was afraid of nothing. “And what are you wearing?” The beast remarked his clothing.

“I heard yelling and knew someone needed help. And what are _you_ wearing? Oh yeah, nothing but a fucking cape; you look like Chewbacca.”

“Chew-what?”

Steve huffed. “Let the guy go. It was a rose for fuck’s sake.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” the beast sneered, his voice almost childish.

“Just did.”

The old man chimed in meekly. “I—I have a daughter that I must get back—“

“Quiet, fool!” the monster turned towards the man, about to approach him again. On instinct Steve grabbed his left arm. Wait—it was…metal. Some sort of prosthetic?

Before he could ponder any longer, he was shoved to the ground, sharp canines and rank breath scarily close to Steve’s face. But the man didn’t even blink—inside he was shaking in his boots, but the bullies never needed to know that.

While the monster was glaring at him with startling grey eyes, Steve kept the strong eye contact and subtly motioned for the old man to leave.

“Where are you from, boy?” The monster snarled.

Steve ignored the question and struggled under him. “For your information, I’m not a _boy,_ I’m twenty-four. Second, it’s none of your business.”

“You’ve made it my business by coming into my house, _uninvited,_ and—COME BACK HERE, THIEF!” The monster roared and ran to the front doors when he heard a horse whinny and the gate slam shut.

“Hey Bighead! He’s gone, you got me now. So what’s it gonna be?”

The beast sneered at him, a pointy tooth glinting in the low chandelier light—wait, are those candles? First, where are the lightbulbs, and how do people get up there?

He marched up to Steve and took him by the back of his shirt, lifting him like it was nothing. Steve gasped before wiggling frantically. “Let me the fuck go! I can walk on my own, thanks!”

The monster said nothing, only marching up the grand staircase and shoving Steve into a room with a four-poster bed. It was admittedly better than Steve’s lousy twin, but there was no outlet near the nightstand or the smell of his Ma’s—

“This is where you will stay the rest of your life. You are taking the place of the thief whom you helped escape.”

“The rest of my _life_?” Steve scoffed. He looked outside at the snow falling even though it was summer in his town. In this weather, the rest of his life could be a few months at most, especially because his mother was no longer here to take over. Steve was looking for some way to escape his new prison anyways. Maybe he could see his mom again…

“Yes. Are you deaf?” The monster growled. He meant it sardonically, but Steve grinned a shit-eating grin.

“Partially, mostly in my left ear. So fuck you.” Then he signed something else much more foul and the monster glared.

“You will join me for dinner tonight.”

“I didn’t know you could make jokes.”

The monster slammed the door so hard that the integrity of the wood for a second seemed irreversibly compromised—and yet, somehow, by some miracle, it didn’t splinter into a million pieces.

Then someone spoke from Steve’s new bed and he jumped and threw a punch towards the voice, missing by a mile.

On the bed was…a candlestick…and a clock.

Maybe they were toys, where you pressed them and they made noises—

“Hey pipsqueak! What’s your na—put me down wAIT NO NOT THE WINDOW—“

Steve shoved the candle thing out of the window and heard it hit the ground a few stories below.

“What is wrong with you?”

Steve turned with crazy eyes—wait, no, he’s not crazy, he’s not, he’s _not,_ he’s only been in solitude for _two fucking minutes_ , in fact, he’s lived in relative solitude his whole life—

“Before you chuck me out of the window let me explain!” The clock spoke faster as Steve approached. “Stop PLEASE!”

Steve pulled to a stop two feet away and waited, pinching himself hard enough to pierce the skin.  

“We are people, but we have been turned into decorations and tools from this castle.”

Steve looked incredulous. “How? Where even am I?”

“We’re like this due to a curse that was the master’s fault but not really—“

The door to his room opened again. “Hey don’t rag on Buck,” the candlestick remarked, then turned to Steve. “And _you_ ,” He…pointed (?), “you better not throw me out a window again or I swear to the gods that I’ll light your hair on fire in your sleep.”

Steve grabbed it—him—around the handle and placed him on the nightstand. “Uh. Sorry about that.”

The candle glared. “Yeah, okay, that sounds believable,” He replied sarcastically.

The clock added, “And you’re on the Barnes Estate—the castle—in L’amourielle.”

“Llama-what?” Steve sat on the bed, all the information he’s taken in overwhelming him.

“It is the country that the master rules—used to rule.”

The candlestick chimed in bitterly, “Now the other nations work without us. The heartless bastards didn’t even try to help him, or us.”

Steve hmm’d thoughtfully, then walked to the window. He heard the clock mutter to the candle, “Mumble mumble master mumble.”

Steve traced his fingers along the banister and its elegant designs. If only he had his sketchbook, or at least a novel he could—

No. He couldn’t start imagining himself living here. Live free or die. ‘Murica.

Steve took the clock and the candlestick, ignoring their protests, and placed them outside the room.

“I want to be left alone,” He muttered.

“I don’t think that’s a good—“

The door slammed shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't he angsty? You can't help but love him.


	4. The Beast's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it says on the can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's shorter than Steve! :D

The beast paced downstairs, back and forth, back and forth. Who was this boy—man, he corrected himself—and what was he doing here? Where was he from? What will he do with him?

His mind brought up the image of his face, determined, angry, strong despite his frame. His features were, well they were beautiful. Would he…could he…

No. The notion was too preposterous to even imagine.

No one could love a beast like him. Least of all a ray of sun like that man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made this into a separate chapter cuz I wanted to. It seemed right, okay? Don't judge. I am head honcho of this operation. I do what I want. 
> 
> Love u guys!


	5. Steve, No, Oh Fuck Oh Shit Oh Gosh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one should lock Steve Rogers in a room he doesn't wanna be in. Everyone will regret it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No comment.

Steve pulled all the layers of sheets and blankets off his luxurious bed and began to knot them together. He was mostly, fairly, _somewhat_ sure that this makeshift rope should…probably…hold his weight. He tied it around one of the banisters bolted to the ground and was about to step out the window when another voice said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, dear.”

It was the fucking wardrobe.

Steve let out a strangled groan. He needed to escape or wake up right this moment or the whole fucking room would start talking to him.

He climbed over the window and held tightly to the bedsheets, inching down slowly. He’s seen climbers on television, how hard could it be to scale a castle?

Five flights up.

With the wind almost plastering him to the stone.

Then he heard a rip from up above and his heart dropped out his asshole. “Ah, shit.”

He tried shimmying down a little more so maybe he wouldn’t die when he hit the ground. Why did it have to be so cold, and why did he have to be wearing shorts and a t-shirt? Maybe there was a fur coat or something in that wardrobe, or would that be like reaching into a person’s chest—

And then the candlestick popped out of his room window. “Get up here right now! This is insane! Stop this nonsense!”

Steve glare and started moving down even faster, his knees scraping the walls and his hands beginning to burn.

The candle must have thought he was still human because his…candle hand…cand…reached out to grab the makeshift rope.

And lit the bedsheets on fire.

“What the fuck dude?” Steve screamed up at him. He was basically freefalling, barely holding onto the sheets and was halfway down the third floor when he dropped, too terrified to make a sound.

His body made a painful impact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit oh fuck oh no


	6. Close Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Come on, Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why would a beast love a dumb bitch like steve? Bucky doesn't know either.

The beast only just caught the man in time.

“Aw shit ow ow fuck _shit_ FUCK,” He yelled in pain, groaning and wincing with his eyes squeezed shut. His hands were bleeding and the beast was almost sure a rib or two cracked because he winced whenever he breathed too deeply.

“Why are you always trying to die?” The monster sounded incredulous, definitely angry but also admiring the man’s…stupid perseverance.

“Why are you always carrying me places _, asshole_?” The man tried to wriggle out of the monster’s bridal carry because he did not want to go anywhere that he beast was taking him, but he kept his grip tight and the pain in his ribs made moving nearly impossible.

“Let—GO—“ He hissed through his teeth.

“Lie still you idiot,” the monster muttered as he dropped the man (gently, too gently, because he was fragile) on a couch near the fire before going off somewhere else in the castle.

***

Steve was sweating and trying not to pass out, and no matter how many times he tried to get up, he just…couldn’t.

The monster came back with a bowl, cloth, and some gauze.

“Where’s the rubbing alcohol?” Steve remarked obstinately. He’d been through the ringer enough times that he and his mom had a system worked out…

“Uh,” the beast was confused. “We have wine?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Nevermind.” What a dream this place is. No rubbing alcohol, busted rib, kidnapped. Maybe his mom was alive, though…

The beast cleared his throat. “Take off your shirt.”

“No.”

“But your ribs are—“

“Fine thanks.”

Then the clock and that damn candle appeared.

The candle glared and said, “I’ll burn that shirt off and you’ll probably like that less.”

Steve glared right back and replied, “I can just kick you out of the way, _pipsquea_ —HEY!”

While Steve was talking, the monster gripped the front of his shirt and tugged effortlessly, basically ripping it into pieces. Steve gaped in shock, and his stomach sank just a little bit more.

The shirt was an old button-up that his mother found at the shelter. It had fit Steve since he was seventeen—he hadn’t grown much since then.

And it was destroyed.

The monster then pressed its paws into Steve’s side clinically and the smaller man winced and shuddered. “Get _off_!”

The monster pressed on and found…yep, two broken ribs, Steve yelping in pain. “Shit _fuck_ CUNTBAG!” He would never say that if his mom was around. But…she wasn’t.

The monster muttered, fed-up, “What even is a cunt, and why is it in a bag?” Steve couldn’t hear him nevertheless.

The candle hung his head, almost bummed out that he couldn’t set anything on fire, so he took a little piece of the shirt and messed with it until it all but disappeared.

Steve glared at the candle, the heat of his fury almost stronger than the candle’s own flames. The candle did not take another piece of the shirt. The clock rolled his eyes.

The monster applied some sort of herbal salve to Steve’s side and then wrapped the gauze around him about three trillion times. The salve burned for a long time, but it gave Steve something to focus on.

His hands were next. The beast carefully washed his palms, and Steve swallowed his grunts of pain, mostly. There were some curses here and there.

Steve focused on the beast’s left arm, mostly hidden under the cape, but from what glimpses Steve stole, it was metal all the way up to the shoulder, and it moved almost like a real arm. It was undoubtedly fascinating.

When the monster was done, he picked Steve up and started walking towards the staircase again.

Steve punched him in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heheheheh. 
> 
> Kudos and comments are my ambrosia. <3


	7. Steve's Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They still don't know each other's names. Huh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and not so sweet.

The monster was stunned enough that Steve was able to jump out of his arms.

“I can—“ the intake of breath hurt, “—I can walk up the stupid stairs on my own.”

The monster grunted, smarting from the punch. (He was more wounded emotionally rather than physically—the touch could have been a caress and Bucky wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference.)

“Idiot,” he muttered, but this time loud enough that Steve could hear. When he spoke up, he said, “Tony and Jarvis will guide you to your new room where you won’t be able to try to commit suicide.”

“It wasn’t _suicide_ ; I was just trying to escape.” Mostly true.

“Save it,” the candle said. He pressed his cand on Steve’s ankle for a moment, causing the man to jump and kick him over.

The candle got right back up and said, “I swear to—“

“Knock it off, Tony,” the clock—Jarvis—interrupted.

“BUT HE—“

“Go,” the monster silenced with one word.

Tony grumbled like a child being sent to bed early.

***

Steve’s new bedroom had the same talking wardrobe, who (thankfully) stayed quiet for now.

That’s wise of it. (Her?)

There were no windows, so Steve guessed he was probably towards the middle of the castle.

“So this is your new place, I hope it has everything you ever dreamed of, princess!” Tony said to Steve in a fake-chipper tone.

Steve shut the door in the two objects’ faces. (Do they have faces?)

He slumped onto the bed, rubbing his tender side and grumbling.

Today had sucked all around. He tried not to cry as he curled up under the (very comfortable) covers.

He missed his apartment, his room, his small bed.

He missed his mother. So much.

All of her stuff—wait.

Shit! If Steve doesn’t get back home soon, the town will just barter away all his and his mother’s things.

The thought made him sick, seeing a girl wearing his mother’s one pair of pearl earrings given to her by his father, or a man using the wicker basket she made herself.

He fell asleep on a pillow soaked in his tears.

***

With the beast’s new form, he was also…gifted…with superhuman hearing.

The sobs of the man were deafening.

The monster’s stomach dropped, and his self loathing hit an all-time high for the first time in a long while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa play despa--


	8. Kiss of Life, Kiss of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the censored tour. He diverts from his path.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life lesson: Steve will never stay in his lane.

At around seven AM (according to a grandfather clock across the bed, who hadn’t talked yet, so Steve thought he was at least safe from _that_ ) there was a knock on Steve’s door.

Jarvis, the clock, said, “Time to eat, sir.”

Steve grumbled awake, a huge migraine turning his brain to mush. “No. M’not hungry.” He turned his face back into the comfy pillow.

Tony said, “Get goin’ or _some people_ cough cough are not going to be very happy.”

“Screw ‘im.”

“That’s what we’re working towards,” Jarvis muttered so that Steve couldn’t hear.

A third voice cut in, sultry and faux demure. “I’ll go tell master.”

Tony yelled down the hallway, presumably following the…female…thing…saying, “Give him some time, maybe we can change his—okay probably not because he’s stubborn as a fucking mule—but master’s going to be very upset! Do you want that?”

At this point, Steve could no longer hear or care about the conversation.

The teapot replied to Tony, “Yes. It’s getting too chummy around here.”

Steve got up to shut the door and lock it, then drifted back to sleep. Fewer fucks could not have been given.

Then a series of powerful knocks pounded away at the door.

“Come down to breakfast at once.”

“No thanks.”

“You will obey, or face the consequences.”

Steve huffed. This guy talked like such a prick. “Or what, you gonna throw me outta the window?”

He heard a growl starting to increase in volume until a voice sounding like Jarvis interjected and said something along the lines of, “…be nicer…a gentleman…” with some other words in there Steve couldn’t decipher.

“Will you please join me for dinner?”

A whisper of, “Say please again.”

“…Please?”

Steve let the tension build up by saying nothing for ten seconds. Then he replied shortly, “No.”

At that moment, a truly feral bellow shook the floors.

“If you will not eat with me, you will not eat _at all_!”

There was one more harsh pound at the door that made Steve jump, and then the loud footsteps retreated.

The door opened. “Hey, I locked that—what the _fuck,_ there are more of you?”

A cart was magically pushed in, and sitting atop it was a tea kettle, along with a few teacups and Tony and Jarvis.

The tea kettle hopped down and strutted towards Steve—now, how a kettle can _strut,_ he had no clue.

On the side was a black and red spider design, delicate and just a little creepy. Steve wanted to trace it.

“Hey,” the pot said casually, as if all of this was normal. “I’m Natasha.”

Steve said nothing. He didn’t even know what type of face he was making. His head was pounding and it seemed like everything was trippy.

“Do you wanna see the castle?” She asked.

The monster said nothing about walking around…and Steve could use the relatively fresh air compared to the stuffy room…

“…Okay.”

Along the way, he noticed the grand and haunting architecture, the gardens coated in snow, and the vast ballroom and dining rooms. Yes, dining rooms plural. It was all so epic, in the most traditional sense of the word. Steve had never seen anything like it, except in fairy tales.

Natasha talked with him throughout the tour (giving him food along the way), explaining things and talking about how she was as a human, what she did (she was the leader of the royal guard), etcetera. And she also revealed a little bit about “James.”

Steve could only assume that that was the name of the monster, but he didn’t ask directly. Natasha didn’t seem like one you interrupt and she probably wouldn’t have appreciated the question anyways. For some reason, Steve wanted to respect Natasha, as she was a person who garnered it.

Suddenly, Steve stopped in the hallway and let out a disbelieving laugh. The cart stopped a few feet in front and Natasha turned back to him. “What is it, Steve?”

“Just. I’m walking around this crazy gorgeous, haunting castle and conversing with a tea kettle. It’s funny to me.”

A side of her mouth slightly tipped upwards but Steve was sure he imagined it. She wasn’t one to smile often.

He was about to head up the staircase to the right which led to his room, when he noted the other staircase that led to other mysterious corridors. The air seemed colder over there.

“What’s that way?” He asked.

“Storage,” Natasha replied curtly, bluntly. There was no room for argument.

“Can I see?”

“No. It’s not your stuff, is it?”

Steve blushed, slightly embarrassed. “Well, good night Natasha.”

“Steve.” And she wheeled off to another part of the castle.

Steve made a run (well, walk—his ribs were killing him after all that walking) up the western staircase. Maybe there was something in there that he could use to escape.

He came upon a room completely torn apart. Tables and chairs were knocked over, fabrics ripped and torn to shreds, glass shattered and littering the floor. The wind from the balcony caused Steve to shiver to his toes.

The moon shone brightly upon the balcony, and, in the center was a simple stand, almost like a stool, except that it had something resting upon it.

A rose.

It floated and sparkled, the air within its bell jar shimmering as if little flecks of stardust orbited the mysterious flower.

As Steve walked over, transfixed, his eyes momentarily caught on a painting that spanned from the floor to ceiling and was nearly as wide. One part was completely gnarled—unrecognizable, a lovely woman to the right completely untouched, and a young man to the left, his face torn in two so that Steve could only see the grey eyes.

He shook his head and turned back to the rose, inching closer and closer, magnetized.

There was a scattering of a few dried up petals at the bottom, and for some reason Steve felt a visceral sorrow at the sight. He wanted to gather them up, kiss them back to life, and let the wind take them.

This tip of his index finger almost touched the jar when his body was suddenly knocked to the ground.

His screaming ribs were the least of his worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beep beep.


	9. Mush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to talk to Horses: A Self Help Guide by Steven G Rogers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hullo how are yall. so i just had a wicked bout of mania and like finished the whole thing... lmfao
> 
> it's shorter than i was planning but im fine w that! it still good in my opininion 
> 
> going to update once a day or once every other day to keep yall on yer toes. LOTS TO COME OH MAN

 The beast leered over him, lip curled to show off a devastatingly sharp canine. “ _What are you doing up here?!”_ He yelled into Steve’s face, flecks of spit hitting his cheeks. _“_ You were not allowed and yet you trespass and risk the lives of every soul in this castle.”

Steve pushed at his shoulders, his lungs trying to take in air. “Look,” He tried to get out, and was surprised that the monster even allowed him to speak. “I got curious, and thought…I thought I could find a way out of this place, okay? And I didn’t touch a fucking thing—so get your fucking paws off me!”

“You would have ruined everything if I hadn’t stopped you,” He replied coldly, his voice low and menacing. It sent a chill down Steve’s spine. Nevertheless, he got up.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” He paused and lifted his hand, like he was about to choke Steve. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning away. “Or I’m locking you in the dungeon.”

Steve scoffed, fed up with this shit. “No.”

The beast turned around abruptly. Now he really looked like he was going to leap at Steve. So, Steve sneaked around the table and dashed down the stairs, making a run for it. Finally.

It was all too crazy, he couldn’t keep doing this.

By the front door, there was a coat rack; Steve grabbed a big fur cloak quickly and rushed out the door since he was in only shorts and sneakers. Outside, he found a carriage and sat on the hard wood, snapping the reins twice to get the brown horse at the front to start moving. “Mush! Mush!” He yelled; that didn’t sound right…

He heard bellowing in the distance and glanced back with a wince before turning back to the forest and demanding the horse to go faster.

As he traveled deeper into the woods, he allowed the horse to slow down to a trop. Trot? He listened as well as he could for a sign of someone following.

Finally—after half an hour—they reached a clearing, but it was covered with snow; he was not out of the woods yet. Then, the horse neighed, bucked around hysterically, and broke loose from the front of the carriage.

“Where are you going, ya dumb horse? Come back! Mush!” But the horse disappeared from the clearing, the clopping of hooves becoming fainter by the second. Steve started to feel scared, but he swallowed it down, taking a few hits from his inhaler.

He gathered the cloak closer to his body before jumping down as gently as possible onto the padded ground. He tried to ignore the fact that his ribs ached like hell and his hands burned. He started marching…forward. Hoping against all hope he was going the right way. That he would pass whatever magical boundary existed and reach home—

A growl sounded from the left of him suddenly. He turned toward the sound. Then another one from behind. And to the right. And…and he was surrounded,

A wolf materialized from the edge of the forest, almost as white as the snow. His drooling fangs gleamed in the moonlight. He moved at a predator-like crawl, his paws jutting forward, shoulders rising and falling with his movements slowly, methodically.

Haunting,

Within a few seconds, all of the wolves came out, and Steve didn’t know what to do. He kept so still that he could hear all their breaths.

The first wolf would not break eye contact. Then, a moment hung in the air, charged with fear and intent.

And it lunged towards Steve.

He dove out of the way in the nick of time and grabbed a branch on the ground, ribs smarting from the ground contact but he ignored it with a grunt. The adrenaline helped.

Another two ran forward, jaws snapping, and Steve swung the branch out in a wide arch, hitting one in the jowl and causing the other to step back with a contemptuous glare. One jumped on him from behind, claws digging into his shoulder blades for a moment, but Steve swung around and pushed it off of him, landing on his butt.

He tried to get up, but the snow made it difficult because his sneakers were so slippery and the cuts on his hands re-opened because of the branch. He knew that in a moment a pile of wolves would descend upon him and rip his flesh from his bones.

He tried to get up. He didn’t want to die here. He used the stick to stand, like a cane of sorts. Three of them jumped at him, time slowed to a crawl, and Steve could see the moment of the end of his life.

Until it wasn’t.

A growl so fierce and loud caused the meadow to still immediately. The hair on the back of the wolves’ necks stood up noticeably, and they began to pace around. The leader continued to eye Steve, circling him, but the others turned to the beast, now walking to the center of the clearing. He had a way of walking that must strike fear in the hearts of mortal men if they were in his path.

Steve was thankful he wasn’t in his path.

“J-James?”

The beast looked up (down) to Steve in bewilderment. _How does he know my n_ —

But then four wolves lunged and the beast knocked them all away with the back of his hand. Yelps echoed through the forest.

Meanwhile, Steve kept walking in circles opposite the alpha, too afraid to make a move, too afraid to run away. He knew he couldn’t outrun this guy.

He could hear in his peripheral the beast growling and the dogs being knocked around, but when Steve finally faced him again, he was on the ground, thrashing, with a pile of wolves clawing into his skin, biting where they could on his chest and face.

Without thinking, Steve took the alpha by surprise by swinging the branch so hard on its face it was knocked to the ground. He took this chance to run to the beast and essentially shoo away the pack descending upon his unlikely savior. He took no joy in the wolves’ whimpers.

The monster—James, Natasha called him James—got up slowly, looking over Steve’s shoulder and widening his eyes. “Duck!”

Steve did as he was told, no questions asked, and the alpha wolf jumped.

Right into James’s arms.

The beast threw him into a tree, and it, along with the pack, finally limped away. The white one eyed Steve menacingly, but it was heavily nursing its side.

The clearing became deadly silent.

Then the sound of a tree falling echoed loudly. Steve looked over and realized it was the monster who fell down, panting and wincing. Along his chest were deep cuts that tore open his shirt, and bite marks as well.

He wasn’t lookin’ too swell, and Steve told him.

The beast managed to roll his eyes, even though they fluttered. Steve was worried. “Come on, Bighead, let’s get you back.” He grabbed for the beast’s metal arm, since it was one of the only parts of his body not currently bleeding or bruising.

It was like trying to lift a fridge.

“You gotta help me out here, Buddy. I can’t just—there ya go, up up, careful, that’s it…”

He forced the beast’s arm over Steve’s shoulders and Steve tried not to grunt in pain. Slowly but surely, the two made it to the carriage bench, Steve pushing James up until he was laying horizontally, clutching his abdomen. “I’m gonna find the horse; don’t do anything stupid ‘til I come back.”

Faintly, the beast replied with a ghost of a smile, his face too pained to really grin, “You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“I’ll leave ya here, I swear on my Ma!”

Steve went into the forest, making _tkk tkk tkk_ sounds in an attempt to lull the horse back. And, after a minute or so, he heard clomping coming closer. Finally, it walked through the trees and appeared about ten feet away from him. Steve felt like the fucking horse whisperer.

He grabbed the reins and gently tugged the horse back to the meadow. “There we go! Let’s go back to the carriage! Yes! Mush!”

“I found the—“ Steve watched as the beast spat out blood, and maybe a tooth. “…horse.”

They had to get back quick. He was getting blood all over the bench. How do you get blood out of a bench?

Steve sat on the horse, taking the reins and directing the horse on the path it just made only an hour before. “Good thing I took the carriage, huh?” He mumbled to himself as he _tkk tkk tkk_ ’d. “It would be pretty sucky if the horse had to carry that mammoth on its back the whole way to the castle…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly i dont even write, they write themselves; esp steve. i cant control him! sorry! *smiling while sweating emoji*
> 
> also yes that last comment by steve was a callout on both the animated and live action movies i see u disney--LIKE WHY WOULD THEY DO THAT TO THE POOR HORSE HAVE BELL FUCKIN CARRY HIM ON HER BACK SEE HOW SHE LIKES IT
> 
> okay have a beautiful night/day/noon/morning/afternoon/evening/happy hour/witching hour


	10. Steve Says Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, the chapter title is not a prank! Steve can do it! He can thank people! Hes a cool funky dude int he

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angsty and happy and awk and lovely i enjoyed writing this one

When they returned, Steve pushed James into a sitting position and threw the metal arm around his shoulders again. He took a deep breath before tugging the beast up, but the guy really lost a lot of energy. It took about five minutes to reach the entrance of the castle.

When they came in, animate objects surrounded them, asking a million questions an hour.

“Quiet!” Steve shushed them. He lay the beast down onto the couch near the fireplace. “I need gauze, some of that fancy nature balm you got, warm water, a needle, thread, and tweezers.”

They all scattered, but the clock and the candle stayed close. “This is your fault,” Tony sneered.

Steve didn’t look at the candle. He sat on the edge of the couch and focused on taking off the rest of Bucky’s shirt and his cape. He really got beaten up. “I know,” Steve whispered, gently running his fingers down James’s stomach: hairy, strong, built like a damn tree…breathing irregularly. Cut up.

The supplies were set on the table next to Steve and he got to work. For most of it, James wasn’t conscious. Steve set a warm cloth on his forehead as he fixed up his torso and right arm. He worked silently and intently, and none of the other souls attempted to interrupt him, not even Tony.

As Steve was working, he was also thinking.

The monster— _James, James_ , _James_ , he repeated in his head—saved his life. Like, _really_ saved his life. Granted, he was rude, anti-social to say the least, and had a serious anger issue, and, oh, can’t forget, he kidnapped Steve. It was still a noble thing, what he did.

Steve thought of the rose, and all these people trapped in objects. James, trapped in that body.

Well, it would make anyone cold. Certainly Steve wasn’t the most well-rounded guy himself, and he was still human. So, consider the aches and pains of normal human life, and add onto it isolation and complete body alteration…

Makes sense is all.

When Steve finished sewing James back together, and taking a deep breath because already the wounds were healing, he moved to James’s face. He re-wet the washcloth so it would become warm again, and began dabbing his face gently. James’s eyes fluttered rapidly under his eyelids, and Steve took a deep breath. After a while, he began absentmindedly brushing away his bangs. His hair was wiry and he was in need of a shower, but for the moment, Steve didn’t care.

He focused on cleaning James’s face, and it was all he could do for now, and he hoped it was enough.

***

The beast woke up in stages. First, the ache in his bones. Then the pull of his skin as he took a deep breath. The deep cuts became localized, and he could feel them without opening his eyes. There was a pressure on his left shoulder.

Finally, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. There was a small man drooling on his shoulder.

“Steve,” He breathed out gently, overwhelmed momentarily by his intense relief. He wanted to stand up, grab him by the arms or the throat, and shake him until his brain turned into pudding. Then, he wanted to clutch him close and never let go.

He settled for closing his eyes again and moving fitfully as if in an active dream.

Steve snorted awake, staring blearily down at the monster underneath him. He shot up and off the couch quickly. Man, he must have been tired…

James slowly opened his eyes (again). He squinted in the sunlight coming through the window, so Steve rushed to it and closed the blinds. He muttered his thanks.

Steve walked slowly back, looking down. “So, uh…How’re ya feelin’?” He pinched his nose with one hand, trying to shake the sleep off.

James shrugged. “I’ve felt better, I’ve felt worse.” He gestured to his left arm. “Worst was when I lost this guy. I’ve been all right ever since.”

Steve leveled James with the most unimpressed, fed-up look the beast had ever seen. He would have laughed if Steve didn’t look so murderous. He turned on his side to hide his smile, then hissed.

“I couldn’t move you onto your front last night, the wounds were much worse there. I’ll get your back now—“

“That’s fine,” James interrupted. “I don’t need your help.”

“Uh,” Steve objected as he approached James and picked up a cloth, “yeah you do. You need stitches on that big gash under your huge fucking shoulder blade. Dumbass.”

Bucky didn’t object, staying still. His only comment was, “Aren’t all asses dumb? I don’t get that insult.”

Steve muttered, “’Course ya don’t.” Louder, “Shut up and don’t move. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

Natasha rolled in with some hot tea and scones. “Here you go, boys. Eat up.”

Steve resolutely ignored Natasha’s presence entirely, his cheeks and the tips of his ears going pink. He knew that if he looked up, he would meet a heated look of smugness and scolding. So he didn’t look up.

When he heard her roll away, Steve walked around and poured James a cup. “How much sugar?”

James replied, eyes half-lidded, “Just start pouring and I’ll tell you when to stop.”

Steve obliged, mixed, and gently placed the delicate teacup in James’s giant paw.

“Wow, you want some tea with your sugar? You know, too much sugar is bad for ya.”

“So is fighting wolves.”

“Touché.”

Steve finished up in about twenty minutes, taking a bit of time to simply smooth down the fur on James’s back. It was a little self-indulgent, Steve had to admit, but no one had to know.

James wouldn’t say anything, but he was enjoying it thoroughly.

After a while, Steve cleared his throat. “I think I’m going to bed. The edge of the couch isn’t necessarily the most comfortable place to pass out when your joints already ache as it is.”

James nodded without turning around. “Okay. Good night.”

Steve cleared his throat and headed for the stairs. “Goodnight, James.”

Before he left the study, he hesitated at the door. “And…and thank you for saving my life. I wouldn’t be here without you.”

James didn’t respond.

He went upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. just in the end notes sayin sup
> 
> how u doin
> 
> kudos and comments!! keep me!! GOING!! <3


	11. Mother Hen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, just let people help you. Geez Louise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GEEZ LOUISE

Jarvis was convinced that the man was dead. He slept for a day and a half straight, tossing and turning, crying out for his mom and sniffling. Hours of no movement.

Jarvis had a lot of free time.

Around noon-time two days after the Forest Incident (James wouldn’t tell them anything), Tony was fed up. He stood up on the nightstand next to Steve’s bed and clinked his cands together repeatedly.

“Rise and shine princess—“

Steve’s arm instinctively shot out and he shoved Tony onto the floor with hardly any effort.

“Kid, I _swear_ , when I turn back into my _BEEFCAKE SELF, I’LL—_ “

“Calm down, Tony,” Jarvis interrupted his friend.

“W’d’yu’wnt,” Steve mumbled into his pillow. It was the most comfortable bed he had ever been in.

“Breakfast is ready, sir.”

“Jarv, don’t call this dick a ‘sir,’ it’s an insult to us actual sirs.”

“I don’t see any other sirs around, Tony.”

“Okay, does it say “Attack Tony Day” on the damned calendar or something?”

Steve groaned. “Shut up.” Then, he sat up abruptly and turned to the two objects. He assessed his chest, the heavy bandaging, the pain in his ribs. His cut-up hands. His surroundings. Everything that had happened in the previous days hit him in the face.

“I thought…hoped…I was dreaming,” He muttered. He thought of his mother.

He put on the simple clothes offered and went willingly downstairs with Tony and Jarvis. There was nothing to say.

Tony and Jarvis were just glad the kid didn’t feel like throwing a fit and having to get James to drag him down.

James was sitting stiffly at the end of an extremely long table, while Steve’s tableware set was at the other end. Steve could tell from experience in the way the other man was sitting that James was avoiding having to put pressure on the cut on his back. So, that happened, too.

Steve sat down gingerly, looking at his tableware. “Please don’t talk,” He muttered to them.

James snorted from the other end of the table, then tried to hide the wince from the stretch of his stitches by putting his paw over his face.

Steve glared across the table. “Laugh it up, Bigfoot.”

“Okay,” James said frankly. “What is that? And what is—actually, I have a lot of questions.” James’s voice grew slowly quieter until he was mumbling to himself. “Like, what’s a dumb ass, and a cunt bag, and a big head, and where you’re from…”

Steve half-yelled, “Hey, partially deaf man all the way down the field over here.”

Bucky sat up, finally looking Steve, though not in the eyes. “What is your name? Full name…”

Steve looked dubious, but obliged. What were they gonna play twenty questions or somethin’?

“Steven Grant Rogers, but I go by Steve.” He raised his eyebrow. “And you’re…James, right?”

“James Buchanan Barnes the Third.”

Steve snorted. “That’s a mouthful. D’ya got a nickname?”

James shrugged. “Just James. My mom…she had called me Bucky sometimes.”

“Can I,” Steve asked, “call you Bucky? Is that okay?”

He nodded, stirring his spoon absentmindedly in his soup.

“Okay, cool.” Steve began to sip at the tomato soup, dipped some bread in it, wow this shit was delicious…

“Next question,” Bucky interrupted him from his food-induced reverie. “Where did you come from?”

Steve didn’t know how to answer that. He was pretty sure this was a fantasy universe, and he didn’t think Bucky had ever heard of New York before. He explained, anyways. “Uh, I used to live in Brooklyn when I was really young, but…by dad got sick, couldn’t shake it. So my mom and I moved down to this shitty town about two miles from…here…and that’s where I’ve lived since I was about eight.”

“Here is L’amourielle, by the way,” Bucky commented.

Steve nodded critically. “Uh huh. Yeah, I have never heard of it before.”

Bucky looked confused. Steve continued, “Next question.”

“How did you get here?”

Steve looked down at his soup. Bucky was surprised to see him momentarily drop the tough guy act. He stayed quiet while the smaller man put his words together in his head. “I…was lettin’ my mom’s ashes go in the forest just outside of my town. She deserved somethin’ better, we just didn’t have the—“ he got choked up, so he swallowed it down forcefully. Then, he picked his head up, took a deep breath, and faced Bucky head-on. “Anyways, I heard screaming and ran towards it. Led me here.”

“Of course you did,” Bucky replied incredulously. He paused. “I’m sorry. About your mother.”

Steve scooted out of his large chair a bit too quickly, the legs squeaking against the floor obnoxiously. They both cringed. Steve stood up tall and smoothed down his pants. “I’m gonna take a nap.”

Bucky looked away as Steve tried to inconspicuously wipe at his eyes and nose. Bucky’s heart felt heavy with empathy; in Steve revealing this part of his story, it viscerally reminded the king of his own mother.

He let Steve go.

***

Steve woke up with a wardrobe in his face.

“Dear, you look rather pale.”

He tried to sit up, then found that his body wanted exactly not that when he puked over the side of the bed. He rested his forehead on the nightstand and took heaving breaths.

“Fuck.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Natasha wheel out of the room, and could hear squeaky wheels head down the staircase. He groaned and rolled his eyes. She was just going to get Bucky and he was going to fuss and snark at Steve for being sick, so of course Steve was determined to get up and prove he could take care of himself.

He could not get up.

His head spun, or was it the room that was spinning…

He blearily pushed the wardrobe out of his room. She only moved of her own free will, since Steve could barely push a toothpick at the state he was in. “Just please have someone grab me a basin of cold water, a bin, and a shit ton of drinking water, and I’ll be all set in no time. No need for theatrics—“

Bucky charged into the door, running into the wardrobe, who ran into Steve, which pushed him back onto the bed. “FUCK!” Steve swore out in pain.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Bucky muttered as he gingerly lifted Steve’s legs onto the bed. “Jarvis, did you get all he just said?”

The clock replied obediently, “Yes sir, I’ll bring it up presently.”

Bucky turned back to the man curled on his bed, too small, too fragile. “Come on, let’s get you under the covers,” Bucky crooned gently. He lifted Steve up effortlessly and set him down carefully, tugging the blankets up to his neck.

“I don’t…I don’t need to be—watch out for the puke on the floor—I don’t need to be babied, Barnes.” Steve kept his eyes squeezed shut and his arms curled around your stomach. “I can feel you rolling your eyes.”

“Oh, nothing gets by you, does it, pal?”

“Nope,” He replied without his usual level of snark.

After that, things got foggy for Steve.

He remembered the heat, the unbearable heat engulfing his body like fire, licking into his lungs, up his throat, out of him. Bile, water, nothing coming out.

A soft hand stroking his face, his back, rubbing salve onto his chest, replacing his gauze. So soft, so calming.

“Mom…”

***

The beast was having a hard time treating Steve. It was nearly unbearable seeing the man quiver and shake. He felt powerless. And Steve kept calling out for his mom. James had the feeling that she was the only person in his life that had mattered.

He understood on the most personal level.

***

A few days later, Steve didn’t know how many, he woke up with a monster dozing at the end of his bed.

He poked him with his bony foot and Bucky shot up, looking terrified for a moment before locking eyes with Steve and breathing a sigh of relief.

“Are you feeling better?”

Steve nodded, but that made his head pound, and he winced. “I’m not 100%--okay, maybe I’ve never been 100%--but, at least I can see straight? And I know what’s goin’ on around me now,” Steve half-joked. Bucky didn’t laugh. His forehead and the edges of his eyes crinkled in worry. Steve wanted to trace those lines. Such an interesting face…

“Does this happen?” Bucky asked instead.

Steve thought for a moment, staring at the snow and the bright sun reflecting on it. “About…two or three times every winter.” He turned back to Bucky with a wry, sad smile. “And I’m pretty sure it’s winter here all year, so either my immune system will become super human or…I’ll slowly deteriorate. Not lookin’ forward to any of my options.”

Bucky grunted in frustration. “I won’t let you get sick anymore.”

“Hey,” Steve said, lighter, “Seein’ as the pattern of needin’ help is me-you-me-you, I think you shouldn’t worry about _me_.”

Again, Bucky didn’t look humored. “You really scared me there for a second, Steve.”

Steve just waved a hand and rolled his eyes. “Please, you can’t get ridda’ me that easy.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Bucky shook his head. “Are you hungry?”

“Not right now. I’ll probably throw it up later, anyway.”

Bucky got up, looking ready to do anything Steve needed. “What do you need? Can I make you more comfortable?”

“Hey,” Steve admonished, “mother hen. Ease up!” Bucky tried to unclench his jaw and loosen his shoulders, looking self-conscious. Steve could have just let him stand there all awkward because, frankly, it was kinda funny. But he cut the guy some slack. “Could you read to me? Wait, do books even exist here?”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll be right back.”

***

Steve liked Bucky’s voice.

They read for most of the day, then the day after that, then the day after _that._ The two laughed when Bucky stuttered or misread (A.K.A. Steve made fun of him mercilessly and if he were better Bucky would have shoved him off the bed—he told him so—and Steve grinned, “bet”), and teared up at times (neither acknowledged the other in those moments, avoiding eye contact).

At one point, Natasha stopped by and brought up crackers. She and Tony and Jarvis listened to the stories just outside of the room, laughing and crying along with the two inside (except for Natasha. It seemed she wasn’t made out of delicate china, but instead cinder block).

In the Western Wing, another petal falls.

***

A few days later, Steve woke up to a faceful of fur. He could hear Bucky laughing, though it was muffled. The smaller man angrily pushed all of the coats and blankets up off of him and glared up at Bucky. “Real funny, asshat.”

“We’re going for a walk today,” Bucky said with a shit-eating grin. “You’ve been cooped up too long, little hen.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “If anyone’s a chicken, it’s you, _mother hen_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. (Steve was realizing that this was common; at least when Steve was around (he hoped it continued.).) “Just shut up for once, will you?”

“Hm,” Steve tapped his chin mockingly for a moment, pretending to ponder. “Nah.”

And so they went outside.

Steve was starting to get ticked off. Bucky kept looking over (down) at Steve, snorting, then looking away. Then, looking over (down) again, snorting even heavier, looking away. Then—

“Stop it, will ya? Geez!” Steve threw up his hands—or tried to. The layers of clothing kind of prevented a lot of movement besides shuffling forward and backward. Bucky thought he looked like a really fat dwarf. Steve thought he looked like that evil penguin dude from the old Batman show.

“I—“ his laughter interrupted him, but he swallowed it down. “I’m sorry, it’s just…you look so—“

“Shaddap, punk.”

Bucky ruffled his hair playfully. Steve hoped he couldn’t see the shiver that ran along Steve’s spine. He liked his hair played with, alright? “Jerk,” Bucky replied smugly. He was starting to catch up on the name-calling.  

“You know,” Bucky said with a toothy smile, “those are what I wore before I turned into—“ He waves his hands at himself, a hint of disgust in his voice, “—this…and I was _still_ bigger than you.”

Steve groused, “That’s not sayin’ much, buddy.”

Bucky ruffled his hair again.

Steve punched him the side—unfortunately, it hurt him more than it did Bucky (unsurprisingly).

So they continue walking in companionable silence. Steve may have been fuming a bit, but he was glad to be outside. The cold bit at his nose and his cheeks were flushed, but the fresh air felt good going down his throat. He sniffled. “You okay, Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Good to be outside.”

They stopped at a bridge, and Steve took out a book from one of his many coat pockets coyly, handing it over to Bucky. He leaned forward smugly and nodded to the book. “Read to me.”

Bucky realized that, he really couldn’t disobey Steve. Ever again.

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky the mother hen bawk bawk
> 
> Good boy, hates himself tho\
> 
> Did u guys see when it shifts to buckys pov he only refers to himself as the beast or the monster lol kms


	12. Sunflowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky going strollin'. Steve and bucky fuckin trollin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fucked up the order of the chapters so now i need to post the two before this i want to death. thanks enjoy love u all

“That is a huge-ass garden,” Steve commented bluntly.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he looked over (DOWN) at Steve. “Close your mouth there, you’ll catch flies.”

“Har, har, Funnybones. Flies can’t even survive here, I can keep my mouth open all I want.”

“Okay…”

Steve glared. “That came out weird ‘cuz you’re weird. So shut it.”

Bucky grinned.

They walked along the paths, Bucky pointing to each type of flower and plant, explaining the name and the meaning of each. “And this is the white rose, it symbolizes purity, or innocence—“

And that’s when a snowball bitch-slapped the king of L’Amourielle.

Bucky growled and turned to Steve, the smaller man’s gloves covered with flecks of snow.

Steve laughed so hard he started coughing, but when Bucky furrowed his brow and was about to rub Steve’s back, he ran away—still laughing. Bucky chased after (more like valet-ran; you know, that really slow jog) him, leaning down and gathering his own snowball.

He stopped for a second while Steve continued running. When he no longer heard footsteps behind him, he turned back and saw Bucky with a gigantic snowball. The Level 50 Boss Snowball. And it hit Steve square on the face, knocking him on his butt.

Steve spat snow out of his mouth and glared up at Bucky, who was leaning down laughing so hard that he was clutching his stomach in pain. “You shouldn’t be laughin’ or you’ll tear your stitches, dick-breath.”

Then, Steve wiped his nose and realized his nose was bleeding. “Aw, look what you did, you fuckin’ Sully!”

Bucky didn’t mother-hen him for a bloody nose. “It builds character, Stevie,” He replied sweetly.

“Shaddap and help me up.”

They continued walking through the garden. When they reached the sunflowers, Steve came to a dead halt, Bucky almost running into his back.

“What is it?” He asked tentatively.

Steve fell to his knees in front of the tall flowers, frozen so beautifully in time. No longer growing. The edges of each petal drying little by little. “My ma loved these flowers.”

Wisely, Bucky kept his distance and stayed quiet.

A few minutes later, Steve broke the silence. “Buck…I—I need to go back. Just to gather her things, maybe my clothes. I can’t let them take away what was left of her. I can’t, I just can’t. I—“ Steve turns to Bucky pleadingly and whispers, “please, Buck. Please.”

Bucky stood there, his face falling. Steve tried not to be saddened by the sight. He needed to go back, just for a bit. He looked back down at his gloved hands, the blood from his nose already dried. He picked at it, trying to avoid the stinging in his eyes.

“Yes. You…you can go.”

Steve’s head shot up and his eyes grew wide. He wiped them dismissively, got up abruptly, and ran over to Bucky, throwing his arms around the man’s torso (because he couldn’t quite reach his shoulders). It knocked the king back a few steps. “Don’t worry,” He muttered into his shirt, “I’ll be back. I don’t got nothin’ else back there worth stickin’ around for.”

Bucky didn’t believe a word. “Let’s go inside,” Bucky commented instead, carefully unwrapping himself from Steve. He closed himself off, and Steve could tell. He pretended not to.

They headed inside and up the staircase, but just before they reached Steve’s room, Bucky touched his arm. “Wait,” he said hesitantly. “Come in here for a moment.”

“What, you gonna murder me?” Steve huffed, grinning.

Bucky shook his head, rolling his eyes. “Just come on.”

Inside was…well…

“Holy Fuck,” Steve muttered.

This was the biggest library Steve had ever seen, ten times bigger than the famous one in New York City or Philadelphia or whatever. It was a guy’s wet dream. Well, Steve’s, anyways.

Bucky didn’t pay attention to Steve’s complete shock, instead walking over to a table and picking up what seemed to be a normal mirror. He stared down at it, contemplating whether he should actually give this away.

Who was he kidding, he would give Steve anything.

He decidedly turned on his heels and marched back to Steve, who hadn’t moved from his spot, except to turn in circles to take everything in.

“Here,” Bucky said to Steve, snapping the man out of his trance. “Take this with you.”

Steve takes it gingerly, his long, nimble fingers running over the gold etched designs on the edges.

“Say,” Bucky instructed, “show me Bucky.”

Steve obliged, and it was like someone was showing a video of Bucky. “So, it’s like Facetime, then.” Steve huffed impressively. “Cool.”

“Face-what?”

“Ah, nevermind.” Steve looked up at Bucky with a smile. “We can talk to each other from wherever then, right?”

Bucky’s face fell. “No.” Steve frowned. “You can only see the person through the mirror. We won’t be able to communicate.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You know, if you guys had cell reception…” He looked back down at the mirror and ran his hands over the front of it, gently down the picture of Bucky’s face. He looked kind of sad, but Bucky brushed it off. He had to. Self-preservation, and all that.

“I’ll help you put together your things,” Bucky muttered, and they left the library.

***

At the door, Steve gestured for Bucky to crouch down a little bit so he could wrap his arms around the king’s neck. “I’ll be back,” Steve promised.

When Steve walked down the driveway and turned around, he saw Bucky standing at the top of the steps. He waved. Bucky waved back.

Bucky muttered to himself, eyes burning, “No. No, won’t. Goodbye, Steve.”

When the two grand doors closed, Steve couldn’t hear anything but their echo the whole walk home.


	13. Where It Used to be Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve comes back to town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kinda sad, lil violent, allu need to know is brock is butt face

After about forty five minutes of walking, and the continual shedding of coats, Steve finally made it to the meadow, the one his mother’s ashes now inhabited. He laid down his winter garments behind a bush, grabbed the urn still leaning against the tree, and marched back to his old town with determination.

Man, it was hot as shit. The midday sun caused beads of sweat to drip down Steve’s face. It made him miss Bucky’s castle all the more.

At least he could move easier.

He jogged to his and his mom’s little apartment building and saw Rumlow kicking around rocks in the front. He was about to backtrack and take the pull-out stairs to the left of the building, but Rumlow heard the footsteps.

His head shot up instantly and he grinned wolfishly, reminding Steve of that alpha wolf in the forest that fateful night. “There you are, ya little asshole.” He grabbed Steve by the waist and spun him around. Steve squirmed out of his grip. “Come to tell me you love me?”

Steve walked around Rumlow towards the building. “Just here to get my ma’s stuff. Then I’m movin’ outta here.”

Rumlow jogged to walk beside him. “Hey hey hey—what?” He grabbed Steve’s hands, and when Steve hissed, realized the deep cuts still healing on his palms. “Wait, what the fuck happened here, Rogers?”

“It’s none of your business.” He marched up the stairs, determined to ignore Rumlow at his heels.

He tried his key in the door, but it didn’t work. Instead, Rumlow leered over his shoulder, getting closer than needed, and used a different key to open it. When Steve gave him a look, Rumlow shrugged. “You were gone, so I rented it. All so that when you came back you still had a place. You’re welcome.”

Steve looked at the door. “Thank you,” he muttered, then used his shoulder to push the door open.

But his mouth dropped when he took in the room. Almost everything was gone.

“Where—where is everything?” Steve could feel his face heating up, his eyes welling with angry tears.

Rumlow threw his arm around Steve’s shoulders, too tightly to be considered friendly (and it felt nothing like when Bucky put his arm around Steve) and said, “Calm down there my little brat. This place may have been a dump, but it still cost some money. I had to pay for it somehow.”

Steve, for once, had no words.

He wiggled out from Rumlow’s grasp and turned to the taller man, and began punching and punching at his chest, face, anywhere he could reach. Rumlow was laughing until a fairly effective uppercut.

He shoved Steve to the ground and straddled his lap, punching a few times in the face and laughing. Steve yelled in pain because of his ribs and only just missed breaking the precious mirror Bucky gave him.

Rumlow whistled. “It’s just like I told Rollins: I like ‘em feisty!” Then, his eyes caught sight of the mirror. He grabbed it and raised it high enough that Steve couldn’t reach, especially with Rumlow’s knees squishing his ribs.

“What’s this? Why do you care so fuckin’ much about it?” He snorted, turning it over in his hand. “Worried ‘bout seven years of bad luck, huh?”

Steve grunted, trying to get out from under Rumlow, but he couldn’t budge. “A friend gave it to me.”

“You don’t have friends.”

“Shut the fuck up. You know jack shit.”

Rumlow raised an eyebrow, giving Steve a little slap before continuing to inspect the mirror. “So, who is it? Do I have some sorta competition?”

 _“Get off of me, Rumlow_!”

Grinning, Rumlow hopped up, kicking Steve in the side. He groaned deeply because Rumlow managed to hit right where his ribs cracked.

“Who is it? Tell me, or I’ll kick ya’ again.”

“His name’s Bucky,” Steve muttered.

“What was that, junior?”

“ _Bucky,_ ” Steve repeated louder.

And the mirror shimmered. “Oh fuck,” Steve whispered, getting to his feet as fast as possible, completely ignoring his body’s pain.

“What the _fuck_?” Rumlow said incredulously.

Steve held his hand out. “Give it back.”

“Is this…this hideous thing…Buck-knee?” Rumlow looked disgusted, and Steve was filling with rage.

“Give it back _now_ , Brock.”

Rumlow shot his head up and poked Steve roughly in the solar plexus. “Oh, so you’re a fuckin’ furry now? I’m gonna kill this fucker,” Rumlow turned around and began running down the stairs, Steve barely keeping up. “I’m gonna rip his face off and feed it to—“ He turned abruptly back to Steve, clutching his shoulders and shaking him. “You’re mine, Steve. And I’m gonna kick your ass for thinkin’ otherwise.” He shoved him away and continued on his path.

“Tell me where this Buck dude is,” He spat into the mirror, and he was on his way. A monster on a mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry:( give it a chapter or two to chipper up!! DONT WORRY!!


	14. And Your Little Dog, Too!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mob tries to fuck with the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think im prolly shit at summaries and chapter titles but hey im enjoyin myself YO LO  
> Yogurt is   
> sO disgusting  
> Love   
> yOurself by not eating it

Steve needed to save Bucky. But first, he needed to grab what he came for.

He hobbled slowly to his feet and went back up the stairs to his apartment. Crawling on the ground, Steve searched for the floorboard that lifted up.

He breathed a sigh of relief. In it, he found his mother’s recipes passed down from her family in Ireland; a picture of the three of them—his mother, his father, and Steve as a young child; her wedding ring; Steve’s birth certificate; a drawing he made for his parents when he was five, with her handwriting on the back— _Steven G. Rogers, 12/25/00_.

He shoved it all into a knapsack he found on the kitchen table and ran out the door as fast as he could.

***

The beast was sitting outside on the balcony of the west wing. The wind bit at his face, stung his eyes, but he didn’t care.

If he turned around, he’d see that the rose only had one more petal, and it would fall soon. Too soon. And then Steve would be lost to him forever, no matter what. There was no hope.

He took a deep breath and looked out as the sun began to set. _Not as bright as Steve_ , he thought, hopeless, depressing romantic he was.

When the monster heard clomping from the forest he shot up quickly and ran down the stairs to the front door, ready to welcome Steve with open arms, be anything the smaller man would want or need for the rest of their lives.

But, when he opened the doors, he stopped in shock.

It was a mob. Led by a man with a ruthless smile.

He shut the door quickly and made preparations. It may have been a while, but this castle had at one point been prepared for war.

The beast called out to all the souls in the castle, and they set to work.

***

Steve stole a bike. He felt bad about it. Desperate times, and all that.

When he finally made it to the castle, twenty minutes that went by too slowly, he was met with screaming, yelling, and small fires simultaneously shooting up and dying all around. “Oh, fuck…” Steve muttered.

At the top of the castle, almost as if Steve’s eyes were magnetized, he spotted Bucky looking down at the carnage from his west wing bat cave.

“ _Bucky_!” Steve yelled. He ignored the scream from his ribs, as per usual. Instantly, the king’s head swiveled down and his clear eyes locked with Steve’s (Steve couldn’t tell, he was almost legally blind when it came to seeing from far away).

And Bucky merely whispered, but, impossibly, through the distance, the wind, the fighting, the flames, Steve could hear his reverent, “Steve…” falling from his lips like a prayer. Steve heard it as if Bucky whispered it in his ear.

And then Bucky was pushed onto the ledge by Rumlow.

“ _NO_!”

Steve sprinted inside and up the stairs as quickly as possible. No one really noticed because they were fighting random castle objects.

When he made it to the wing, his eyes locked onto the flower first and foremost.

One petal left.

Time was almost out. Steve didn’t want to know what would happen if that last petal floated to the bottom of the bell jar.

“Hey, baby!” Rumlow yelled to Steve. “Why don’tcha watch me push your little dog over this cliff!”  

 _What a sick fuck_ , both Steve and Bucky thought.

Bucky pushed Rumlow down and they rolled around, throwing dirty punches and kicks. Steve didn’t know what to do. “Come on Bucky,” he muttered as he looked around for some sort of weapon.

All he could find was an ancient shield in the corner, so he grabbed it and threw it like a Frisbee at Rumlow’s head.

It hit his side.

“Ow!”

But it was just the distraction Bucky needed, for he shoved Rumlow to the ground, hard, and pressed his trunk-like forearm to the asshole’s neck. “Get out of here,” Bucky said, low and menacing, making sure Rumlow didn’t miss the canines.

What Bucky didn’t see was the gun Rumlow was pulling out of his jeans.

“Rumlow, wait!” Steve yelled. Both men turned to him. At least Brock’s hand froze on his gun. “I’ll…I’ll marry you. If you leave now and don’t hurt Bucky.”

Bucky’s face fell. Steve pocketed that away, focusing on Rumlow, the bigger threat here.

“Promise?” Brock grinned unnervingly, like you could tell there were a few screws loose up there.

Steve sighed. “Yes.”

It was quiet for a moment. Brock hummed happily. “Good.” Then his hand tightened on the gun and he pointed it at Bucky’s stomach. “Still gonna kill it, though.”

And Bucky fell to the ground. “NO!” Steve yelled, running to Bucky, falling to his side. He covered Bucky’s upper body with his own small one in hopes that Brock would stop shooting.

He fired another shot on Bucky’s lower, left abdomen; then again, on his right shoulder. Steve felt the bullets like they pierced his own skin. “Stop! Stop! Please!”

Brock huffed and grabbed Steve by the arm, yanking him up. “C’mon, you got a promise to fulfill.”

Steve punched and kicked, but it was no use.

“Now, should we christen one of these bed— _agh_!”

Bucky, in a last-ditch effort, used the shield Steve threw to knock Rumlow off his feet. It was all the time Steve needed. He picked up the shield and pushed Brock until he was leaning over the edge of the balcony.

He stared straight into Rumlow’s soul, the blackened pit it was, and shoved.

And there Rumlow fell.

Steve didn’t bother to watch his body hit the ground, he heard it well enough.

He ran to Bucky’s side. “Nonononono, Buck. Breathe for me. Oh, oh no,” Steve was pressing down on the wounds, but his hands just got slippery with blood. “Tony! Jarvis! A-anyone! Please!” He was shaking, his body wracking with sobs. “James Buchanan Barnes the Third, you are not dying today,” He sniffled.

Bucky raised his left arm, brushing the tears off Steve’s cheek. “It hurts, Steve.”

“I know, I know. Just hold on. It’s all gonna be fine.” Now the blood was leaking over the marble floor, Steve’s pants soaking it up, his knees slipping in it.

He leaned up to Bucky’s head and brushed his hair back. “I’m so sorry, he came here because of me. I was gonna come back Buck, I swear it. I swear it on Ma. I—I love you. Please don’t leave me.” He got quieter and quieter, the tears choking him up. “Please, Buck. I love you. I love you.”

He peppered kisses all over Bucky’s face, his eyelids, eyelashes, temples, forehead, the wrinkles on the sides of his eyes, his nose, his cheeks, the furry cleft of his chin. Then, he firmly pressed his lips to Bucky’s, and he kissed like he fought. Straightforward, clumsy, putting all he was into it.

Bucky buried his working hand in Steve’s hair and kissed just as fiercely back. Steve wouldn’t back away, so Bucky pulled him gently back by his hair. “I love you too, Steve. Only you for me. Don’t apologize, don’t feel bad. You did what you could.”

Tears filled his eyes. “You came back.”

“I—I did, Buck. I did. I’ll always come back to you.” He buried his head into Bucky’s neck. “Please don’t go. Please don’t go,” he repeated quietly to himself.

He could feel Bucky let out one long, soft, breath leave his large body one last time.

Steve pounded at his chest. “Stop this! Wake up, Bucky! Please! Mom! Help him, oh please. I love him I love him, I love you, come back…”

***

This, this wasn’t a bad way to go, the beast thought.

Steve was the last thought he had before everything turned bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yike. :/ whoeveer wrote this is a lil bitch huh


	15. "Harry Potter Nonsense"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> love love love. The moment we've all been waiting for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi uh. can we just all talk about how much of a beefcake bucky barnes was in civil war? did you see those tree trunk arms? solid build? and infinity war, l'oreal lookin hair ass mofo? UNF. imagine those arms, that hair, relatively post-wwii azzano experimentation brain vibes with winter soldier strength and strut. Am i crazy? Cuz thats how i picture this bucky.
> 
> LEAVE ME ALONE

The bell jar shattered, but Steve couldn’t hear anything besides the ringing in his ears. However, the unbearable light coming from within the room forced Steve to bury his face in Bucky’s chest.

Then, Bucky began to float. Like, levitation Harry Potter nonsense float.

“W—what the fuck,” Steve whispered. Then he saw the flower floating, all the petals twirling in the air and reconnecting with the flower itself. The air shimmered. Steve couldn’t help but feel something light when he looked at it.

But he stared again back to Bucky, Bucky who was floating, who was encased in a bright light, and he was moving. Something was happening, bigger than Steve could possibly imagine.

 _What if this was all a dream? A dream within a dream within a dream?_ Steve thought as he took everything in. But he shook his head at the notion.

 _No_ , he reaffirmed to himself, _I’d rather live with the pain if it meant knowing Bucky was real, that he loved me and I loved him_.  

Then, rainbows literally started shooting everywhere.

… _Gay._

Slowly, something, some _one_ , was lowered to the ground. Gently.

Steve rushed towards what roughly resembled Bucky—the clothes he last wore, at least. Although, they were three sizes too big on this…person.

This person with plump lips, soft lengthy dark brown hair, long eyelashes, a cleft in the chin that Steve wanted to press his thumb into.

And his eyes shot open, and he gasped as if coming up for air after being underwater for so long.

And Steve saw his eyes.

Those eyes.

They’re—they’re like the painting.

They’re…

“Bucky?” It came out as a faint whisper.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” He asked innocently as he stared up at Steve, eyes blank.

Steve put his hand over his mouth. “No…”

Then Bucky grinned, and it was the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen. “Kidding.”

Steve glared and shoved roughly at his shoulders, and then gasped. “Sorry!” He pulled the right collar of the shirt to check the damage from the bullet wound but…there was nothing.

His eyes slowly followed back to Bucky’s face. “You’re…you’re fine. You were shot three times, but…You’re fine.”

Bucky’s eyes were glassy. He sat up and got in Steve’s space, and Steve could feel the heat radiating off of him. _Still so warm_ …

“Yeah, Stevie.” He took Steve’s face in both of his hands (still so big), and leaned close. “I’m okay.”

He pressed his lips gently to the smaller man’s, then leaned back an inch, looking cross-eyed into Steve’s. “And I’m in love with you.”

Steve was crying. He could do nothing but nod and take Bucky in his arms, crushing his face into the place where Bucky’s neck met his shoulder. He clutched so tightly that it was a little painful, and Bucky was happily surprised. He could feel just how powerfully Steve felt, and it filled his heart with warmth.

Steve started shaking like a leaf.

“What happened to all those furs I gave you?” Bucky scolded, pushing Steve gently back by the shoulders and running his arms up and down in an attempt to warm him up.

“I ran here as soon as I could. Because Ru—Oh my gosh.” Steve went pale all over.

Bucky sat up straighter, his hands stilling. “What, Steve?”

“I…” Steve looked over to the balcony, then the shield lying haphazardly to the side, and, finally, down at his hands. Still with Bucky’s blood on them. “I killed him. Rum—I killed Rumlow.”

Bucky put his paw—no, his _hand_ —to steve’s cheek, rubbing his thumb from side to side. “It’s okay, Steve. Take a deep breath.”

Steve shuddered, tears unable to stop from surrendering to gravity. “I had to.” He took a deep breath, reasoning with himself. “He shot you. He coulda done more, _worse_ , if—if I didn’t…push him…”

“Thank you,” Bucky whispered. Steve shut his eyes and allowed more tears to spill, leaning into the gentle and comforting touches.

Bucky picks him up and walks him to his room. The mob seemed to have disappeared, or maybe Steve and Bucky were in a little bubble.

When Buck sat Steve down on his bed and wrapped a fur around him, Steve settled a bit, and looked up at him in disbelief. “You’re human, Buck. How?”

“What, you miss my old mug?” Bucky grinned. Instantly, Steve zeroed in on the quirk of his lips. He held all these little, beautiful new details of this Bucky close to his heart.

He was quiet, serious, contemplative. Bucky wasn’t used to Steve not quipping back. He looked earnestly into Bucky’s eyes instead and whispered, “I meant it, you know.”

Bucky sat gingerly next to Steve, who swung his legs on his lap and leaned onto Bucky’s chest, looking up at him. Bucky grinned down, replying, “Good, ‘cuz I plan on holdin’ you to it.”

Steve hooked his arms around Bucky’s neck and tugged him down for a kiss. A long, powerful, deep kiss. It sent shivers down their spines. Curled their toes. Mended their hearts.

Then Tony barged in.

“Oh, hey pipsqueak!” He said mockingly, and he charged, ready to throttle Steve.

Bucky got up, pushed his newly human friend out of the room with his big hand pressing into Tony’s face, and slammed the door shut.

Steve snickered.

“What’s so funny there, punk?” Bucky crossed his arms. He was too far away.

“Nothing,” He replied sweetly. Then he made grabby hands. “Now come back over here. I’m cold and I’m in love with you. Come here, jerk.” Then, quieter, “Come here.”

Bucky could never resist Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is where it stops for those who dont wanna read the pron! pron in next chapetr people! nevre writen a pron before
> 
> u put the pip pip in the doodly doo
> 
> aCUTLAY i did write a pron it was for a web comic called long exposure heheh it was funny i was youn okay. check my other worksssss!!! self promo here we come!
> 
> no im not drunk or high i jsut lkei misspelling tihngs fro fUN


	16. Steve's Middle Name Should be "Impatience"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SexXXX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I Know You In Real Life You Cannot Read This Or You Will Be Trampled To Death
> 
> YES YOU MORGAN
> 
> for all of you respectful people, this is short and shrexy enjoy

Bucky caged Steve in, his forearms around his face and his legs framing his hips. He leaned down and licked into Steve’s mouth hungrily. Steve winced, then tried to hide it.

“What is it?” Bucky asked, worried.

Steve shook his head. “Keep kissin’ me, Buck, don’t worry.”

But Bucky sat back. Steve whined. “Tell me or I stop.”

Steve rolled his eyes and turned his face to the side, crossing his arms. Bucky was about to call him out for being childish, but the light hit Steve’s face just right. He could see a bruise starting to form. He touched it lightly, and Steve tried not to wince. “Who did this?” Bucky asked in a low voice.

Steve pulled Bucky’s hands away and covered his face. “Doesn’ matter, he’s…”

“Rumlow,” He concluded, voice rough and angry. He pulled Steve’s hands away easily and turned his head gently, picking up on all the other red patches and developing bruises, and the cut on his bottom lip. He kissed each part of his face, right over the hurt, and hummed into Steve’s skin. Steve felt electric. Hurt and healed. Stitching back together.

Once Bucky pressed one last kiss under Steve’s jaw, he leaned back. Steve whined lightly, then blushed at the lapse in control. Bucky smiled softly, then ran his hand across Steve’s chest. “Where else, Steve,” he inquired gently. Always so gentle with him.

Steve squirmed a little so that he could take his shirt off.

It must have been bad, since Bucky immediately growled at the sight. “Hey, I know I’m no looker but—“

“Shut up,” Bucky was offended by even the joke of Steve being anything but perfectly imperfect. “You are so breathtaking, Stevie…It’s…it’s his marks on your beautiful skin that disgust me.”

Steve couldn’t look at Bucky’s honest, earnest, open and loving face anymore. He looked down at himself and blew a low whistle. “That doesn’t look too good,” He said teasingly.

Bucky glared at Steve.

Where his gauze was, it was now all ripped up, and he was bleeding from nicks on his stomach—Rumlow’s sharp army-issued boots. The bruising around his broken ribs were almost green with how severe they were. He was covered with purple and blue. It looked kinda cool, but Bucky traced each one and his eyes were so pained.

“You were going to marry _that_ piece of garbage, to save me?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “You should feel special,” he quipped sardonically.

Bucky leaned down and kissed Steve sweetly. He didn’t think he would ever get used to Bucky’s breathtaking kisses, and he was fine with that.

Bucky kissed down his neck, to his chest. He blew air on each of Steve’s nipples, and the smaller man shivered under his hands. He laved at one, and rubbed with his thumb on the other.

But he didn’t stay there for long.

He moved to Steve’s upper arms, kissing the finger imprints Brock had left when he shook him, first the left and then the right. Bucky got up momentarily to grab some gauze and tree salve in order to reapply it for Steve’s rib. He rubbed the oil on his chest softly, slowly, his brow furrowed in concentration and reverence. Steve squirmed under all the attention.

“Stay still, love,” Bucky muttered, kissing Steve on the forehead briefly before turning back to the task at hand.

When it came time to wrap the new gauze around, Bucky slowly pulled Steve up and let the man’s head rest on his (beefy) shoulder while he worked it around. When he was finished, he lay Steve back down just as carefully.

Bucky crawled further down until he was mouthing at Steve’s stomach. It set alight a new pressure, a good, aching one, low in his hips. Steve could barely feel the ache of his body with how Bucky was caressing him. He sighed in pleasure more than once, though he would never admit it.

When Bucky reached the hem of Steve’s pants, he stopped and Steve grunted in frustration.

“Okay?” He asked carefully.

Steve rolled his eyes. “Do I gotta do everythin’ myself?” He started to unbutton his pants but Bucky grinned and waved Steve’s hands away.

“I never want you to lift a finger again, Stevie.”

“Okay,” Steve muttered, swallowing a moan so he could snark, “That’s definitely not gonna work out. See I have this thing called _independence_ —unhh…” He reclined his head back in ecstasy.

He could feel Bucky’s grin at the base of his dick. “What was that?” He asked teasingly. Steve just patted around until his hand came into contact with Bucky’s hair, and he laced his fingers, rubbing soothingly into his scalp. Bucky essentially purred.

“More,” he moaned. “Please, Bucky.”

Obediently, Bucky wrapped his gorgeous, plush lips around Steve’s dick, and Bucky was in love with it. It wasn’t big or anything, but it was a part of Steve. It was perfect, just like the rest of him.

He sucked up and down, licking at the head when he came back up. He looked to Steve and marveled at how red his neck got, the bobbing of his adam’s apple, the underside of his ears. Steve was only petting Bucky’s head, but he was clenching onto a pillow for dear life.

“Steve,” he whispered. The cold breath on his cock caused him to instantly look down.

“Mmmnh?”

“Don’t hold back,” he replied, his hand covering Steve’s, squeezing down to show him what he wanted.

Steve nodded numbly. “Why are you so perfect?” Steve mumbled down to him before his eyes rolled back in his head and he arched his back.

Bucky sucked Steve down with fervor, and the clenching in his hair felt so dangerously good. He pumped Steve with one hand slowly, teasingly, while he climbed back up Steve’s body and lightly pressed his metal index, middle and ring finger to his bitten red bottom lip.

Eyes hazy, Steve was brought back, taking Bucky’s fingers in his mouth obediently. Bucky leaned forward so that his mouth moved against Steve’s right ear. “Make it messy, Stevie.” He tightened his hold on his dick as well.

Steve could only respond by moaning and sucking fervently on his fingers.

Once his fingers were wet enough, he lightly traced them down Steve’s lip, chin, chest, stomach, dick, and finally, to where Steve needed them most.

Bucky’s mouth went right back around Steve’s cock, but with the addition of his middle finger circling around his hole. Teasing, dipping in and then skipping around.

Steve clenched Bucky’s hair particularly hard. “Don’t tease me too much, I don’t think I c-can take it. Unh…”

Bucky went down to the hilt and swallowed at the same time he shoved two fingers in. Steve shot up the bed and moaned loudly. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, get in me now, I need it, need to feel you, need it…”

He popped off and rubbed the head. “You and your hungry hole,” he said. “Let me put another finger in, then…”

“Hurry up,” Steve whined, his feet digging into Bucky’s back.

“Pushy, pushy,” Bucky mumbled with a small smile. He liked how crazy he made Steve. It drove him wild to see how he affected him.

He swallowed Steve back down, reaching his right hand to press against the tent in his pants, to sate the ache for just a moment. Then he pushed his fingers in and out of Steve until he could squeeze three, four in his hole. “’M ready, Buck, ‘m ready, give it to me, c’mon, I’m not gettin’ any younger here.”

“Okay, okay, Stevie.” Bucky kissed the tip of his dick one more time before sitting up and grabbing the oil from under the bed, slathering his own dick and Steve’s hole so sultry it felt dirty.

Steve had his hands raised above his hand, moaning wantonly, and he was biting his lip so sexily, Bucky had to take another kiss from him. Steve could tell, so he said, “C’mere you beast,” with a shit-eating grin.

“Shut up,” Bucky muttered. As they kissed, and Bucky pressed his tongue against Steve’s he also began to push into his hole. Steve’s mouth froze into an ‘O’ and Bucky licked greedily inside. But he was about to cum, so he stopped. Steve whined.

“’M sorry, I’m about to cum, just give me…gimme a moment, Steve.” He heaved in deep breaths, and Steve’s eyes were drawn to his chest. Strong, broad, beautiful. Covered with terrible scars, but it was Bucky’s skin. Steve pressed his thumbs to Bucky’s nipples and the man involuntarily thrust forward. “What’re you doin’ to me, sweetheart?” Bucky rested his forehead on Steve’s.

“Get in me, Barnes,” Steve murmured, adding to the light kick at his back.

“You sure?” Bucky asked, a grin in his voice, though he was still breathing too deeply.

“Think I can’t handle it, asshole?”

Bucky lifted his head back up and looked deeply into his eyes. “I’m not the asshole here,” he quipped. Before Steve could say anything else, Bucky thrust the rest of his length into Steve and began pulling out and pushing back in at a punishing rate.

Steve just about screamed and grabbed Bucky’s wrists, bringing them to his face. “Kiss me, James.”

And kiss him he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol i stop it just before they nut cuz i like edgin all u bitches
> 
> jkjk it just felt right yano? it was a good last line (not perfect, but still good)
> 
> thank you for making this far you troopers, stronger than any us marine
> 
> jk respect teh troops
> 
> goodbye!! leave recs below! i will most likely write them bc i need to distract myself from my super long important fic called you were the one thing i got right! i cant get it right! IRONY!! YOU FICKLE SORCERESS 
> 
> Kis kis fall in love bye u guys mwah!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Stay tuneddd.....
> 
> Kudos and comments would be appreciated! I feed off your validation!! <3


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